Confessions
by Lady Blade WarAngel
Summary: Sharpe is depressed by the terrible things that have happened in the past. He's haunted and he cannot escape. How will he stop the pain? this is a monologue P.O.V.


**LADY BLADE: Hi people. **

**CDD: What are you doing now?**

**LADY BLADE: I'm writing a Sharpe fic.**

**CDD: Isn't this technically a one shot?**

**LADY BLADE: Awe shut up.**

**CDD: Lady Blade does NOT own Sharpe. He is a character owned by Bernard Cornwell. In fact none of the characters here are owned by Lady blade. But her depressing storyline does belong to her.**

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**SUMMERY: Sharpe is depressed by the terrible things that have happened in the past. He's haunted and he cannot escape. How will he stop the pain?**

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**Confessions.**

**I did it. I killed him. Although why I killed him, is a story that will horrify you. I stand here now. Ready to confess it all. Now when I am ready to die. I stand in front of the altar to confess all my terrible sins. But the greatest of all was killing him. Him, him, him. How can I explain, why I killed my best friend, and indeed, perhaps my worst enemy? I don't know but I'll try. I'll try to explain it all. Tell my story. Then you can condemn me to the depths of hell. Judge me as you will, for I can no longer hide what I have done.**

**I remember so well what happened. I remember that day like no other day. The memory branded into my brain, the stench of my sins like burned skin, wafting around inside my head, turning my stomach and destroying me slowly. Silly as it was, I know that what I did had to have been the right thing to do. It was all I could think about. All that's kept me sane these last thirty years. But no longer. Only confessing can save me. So I shall carry on.**

**That bright sunny day in March, when I was walking along the river banks of the Seine, I remember how I felt. Happy maybe? Happy that the war was finally over. Napoleon was gone. I had no purpose. I was about to go back to my farm, and carry on with my life. Knowing that finally, I could just relax, and never worry about going back to war again. But also, I knew that Pat was in the hospital. His leg had been blown off. The doctors certainly didn't think that he'd make it. Soon, fever would set in. I had been so determined to save his life. The full reality hit me that I couldn't save him. The he was going to die. My best friend, my eternal companion, and sometimes my greatest challenge. It was best to always have someone that made you think. Lucille certainly didn't make me think at all. Don't get me wrong. I loved her very much. I still do. But there is nothing I can do to stop feeling that I could've saved him. **

**A ridiculous notion that I maintained through my entire life. So here I stand, by the altar in the church. Still remembering. I remember going to see Pat at the hospital. I remember thinking that he didn't look any different. Not really. Even though his face was pale, and there was a stump where his leg had once been. He'd marched proudly on that leg. From Spain to France. Through England, and even though he had not been a soldier, he'd marched at Waterloo. That's what killed him. **

**I remember him biting his lip. He looked at me. I had this terrible feeling. The feeling that something was going to happen. I wished to god, that I had been wrong. Pat tried to give a slight smile. "Well Mr Sharpe. It seems my marching days are over." Pat said. I wasn't sure what to say. I certainly didn't want to say the wrong thing at this moment. "Mr Sharpe. I've never asked you to do a thing for me in all the time we've known each other. But I'm askin' ya now. Put me out of me misery." Pat said. I wanted to laugh, and pretend he was joking. But one look at his face, told me he was serious. Deadly serious. I wanted to run. Wake up. This was a dream. My best friend was NOT asking me to kill him. Was he? I looked at Pat again. Only to see the same deadly serious look on his face. I could only ask one question.**

"**Why Pat?" That was all I asked. "Because I can't go on like this." Pat said. "Like what?" I said stupidly. Pat laughed mirthlessly. "I've only one leg, Mr Sharpe. How am I supposed to look after Ramona, and me boy. I'll never be able to do anything that earns good money." Pat said. "But Pat, Ramona doesn't care about that. And you know it." Sharpe said. Pat smiled slightly. "I know that. You think I don't know. She'd stay with me, even if it meant that we all starved. I'd have no pride, or honour left. I can't put Ramona and Little Patrick through that. I know that you were tryin' to save me life. But I think it's time that you excepted that I can't go on." Pat said. **

**I knew he was right. Were it the other way around, I'd be asking the same of him. But could I really do it. I tried to think of an excuse. "Have you even talked to Ramona?" I asked. "No. I want them to think that I just died. That fever is settling in my brain you know Mr Sharpe. Soon I won't even have coherent thought. So I may even be dead sooner then I thin. I know that I don't want to die, with Ramona seeing me raving like a lunatic." Pat said. I nodded. I knew what I had to do. But I still had one more question. "Why ask me Pat?" I said. "Because there is no one else that I trust more then you Mr Sharpe. You're my oldest and best friend. We marched together from the beginning. Everywhere that you have gone, I have followed you. I guess that I can follow you no further. I'm just grateful that I got to see it end. That there is no more war, threatening to destroy my family. Or anyone else. That means something. That I didn't die like Perkins." Pat's eyes went glassy. I knew he was thinking about the youngest of we chosen men. Who'd been killed by an English deserter, O Rourke. Pat had killed him after, and made him suffer. But I knew he always felt like he could've done more to help Perkins. **

**I took a small pistol out. "I'll grant your wish Pat. But be sure it's what you want." I said. I couldn't show emotion at this moment. If I did, I'd crack. I couldn't crack. Pat nodded. "It is so it is. I'll be proud to have died by your hand Mr Sharpe. With my pride and my honour still intact." Pat said. I nodded. Then I fired the shot. The killing shot that killed my best friend. I heard the doctors come into the tent. "It was what he wanted." That was all I could say. The doctor nodded. "I know. We were ready to put him out of his misery. But he insisted that he talk to you, before he allowed us to help." The doctor said. "You won't be known as his killer. We doctors take the role." The doctor said. I remember biting my lip. I wasn't even aware of how hard I was biting it. Until I tasted the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.**

**After that, everything happened in a blur. Pat's funeral was about as big as it was going to get. I swore to myself that I'd make sure that Ramona and Little Patrick were alright. Lucille stood by my side. She knew what had happened. I had blurted it out to her. But she didn't blame me. Like I thought she would. I wanted to hear someone yell at me. Scream and make me feel worse then I did. But they didn't. Everyone showed me pity, knowing that Patrick Harper had been my best friend. I think the fact that everyone was being so kind to me, was what made everything worse in my mind. **

**When Little Patrick was seven, Ramona died from some sort of fever. Pat's mother refused to look after little Patrick. So I decided to take the burden. But I think, somehow. That looking after the lad lessened my guilt. I felt like I was doing something for Pat, by looking after his son. But now, with Little Patrick being grown and married with his own children, I guess he isn't so little anymore. Even my daughter Antonia, is married. I was there for her wedding. She reminded me of everything that I had lost, when Teresa was killed. The pain of remembrance. I think that is why I did not go and see her much when she was young. I wasn't a good father. Not even to my other daughter, Teresa. My child by Lucille. Another child that has grown up and is ready to get married. I achieved everything that I was going to achieve in my lifetime. Finally I wanted it to be over.**

**I'm old, my once blonde hair, grey with the years, and my eyes once so vivid, were dull and lifeless. Now, it was time. To join those who had gone before me. Teresa, Perkins, Hagman, Harris, Ramona, and finally Patrick Harper. My friend. A victim of death, by my hand. He'd be waiting for me. I'll let them all pass judgement. I have confessed all, and now, I can honestly say that I regret nothing, except that maybe, Pat could have lived to see his son grow up. I raised my small pistol. The same one I had used to kill Pat. I raised it to my head. And fired............**

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**LADY BLADE: Well people, do ya like.**

**CDD: Rather depressing isn't it?**

**LADY BLADE: I love watching Sharpe. It's gret. Anyways, I gotta go and do some work. :) C ya L8r people. **

**CDD: Please R&R.**


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